


In Salty Air We Find (Freedom, Peace, Sweat)

by StrandsofNehn



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Romantic Fluff, mornings are quiet, sea salt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 22:15:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4978570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrandsofNehn/pseuds/StrandsofNehn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen may not have his desk or office anymore, but he still has his routine. Fluff mentions of mage inquisitor. Set after trespasser but no big (if any) spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Salty Air We Find (Freedom, Peace, Sweat)

The place they "retire" to is a half hours ride from the sea.

Sometimes he misses the chill of Skyhold’s mountain air but the smell of the sea still pulls at his heart, even after all these years. He sits at their small table and doesn't flinch at a lick on his palm. He looks down and smiles, giving his fellow Fereldan a firm scratch behind the ears and finishes his cup of tea, leaving it where it lay. She wouldn’t be up for awhile yet.

The house stays quiet beyond the slight scratch of his companions nails along the floor as they make their way out into the salty air of Ferelden. He remembers when she asked if he would like living here, nerves showing in her eyes, her teeth slightly worrying her lip. To think, once he would have been confused by her behavior but he had loved her for years and could see that she loved it.

She described a small house with just three rooms, a stable fit for only two horses, though that she insisted could make do with a third, a view of the ocean and sunsets that hypnotized. She loved it- she merely wanted him to love it, too. And he did. A feeling of rightness tangled in his gut when he stood for the first time where his future home would be. It was a feeling he's only had a few times before, joining the templars, leaving the templars, kissing her on the ramparts, asking her to marry him, pledging himself to her in the eyes of the Maker and now every morning when he awoke next to her. A sudden laugh came from him, low and fond.

Maker, what a fool he is in love.

  
With the door shut behind, he takes in a deep breath. Salt, freedom and home. The warm of summer surrounds him, making him glad of the choice he made when they moved here. He is no longer at war, cotton and leather serve fine in place of mantles and steel. Keeping the sword though, is just good sense.

The dog gives a soft whine, impatient to start and, with a hint of amusement, they do. He’s not sure if it’s "a protector's habit" as she calls it, the need for a stretch of legs or a carefree love of life he wasn’t aware he possessed until recent years, but the walk with his hound is something Cullen deeply enjoys every morning. He had expected his love to tease him at first, to make a quick witted comment about soldiers and serious expressions but she hadn't done. She smiled an easy smile, pressed her face in his neck and merely said she liked the way he smelled.

Impossible woman.

His companion runs a bit ahead of him, smelling and investigating what the new rains left, occasionally finding something he thinks his master may like and bringing it back to him in what Cullen likes to think of as a prance. The first time it happened, it was a pair of old pantaloons and to say Cullen was at a loss of what to say would be an exceedingly correct assumption.

Luckily the beast is as patient (sometimes) as he is clever (all the time) and waited for Cullen to clumsily accept the gift and then request his hound bring back more… useful items. He soon found out just how clever the mutt is when he brought back an old wooden branch with a curious gem on its tip. It’s still his love’s favorite staff.

Cullen whistles and his companion comes running, tongue hanging from his mouth and keeping step at his masters side as Cullen changes direction. They trail along for a better part of an hour and when he comes through the door of his home he’s sweating from the rising sun and humidity. He’s sure his hair is a curled mess. The cup still sits on the table, proving as much as the dip in the bed his lovely wife has not yet risen. The dog trots in after him, sniffing his spot by the neglected fire place before laying down to watch his master putter about.

The feeling of home unfurls in his chest as he unstraps his sword belt from his side and places it by the door next to her staff. Feeling the heat maybe a bit too keenly, he goes to the wash bin and brings the water to his face, after stripping his shirt for good measure. The drops are cool against his skin and he has a passing thought to wake the lovely woman just a room over so the whole house can feel the same cold.

The cotton shirt in his hands is warm with the summer air rolling in and his skin is still moist as he looks back at the slight dip in the bed and finds an easy smile come to his face. Hair everywhere, lips slightly parted and holding a pillow close to her, even though she had kicked off the blanket during the night. She shifts and- oh, so that’s where that tunic went. He was wondering.

Despite wanting to kiss her forehead and see her eyes, he wants to wake her even less, light sleeper as she is. Neither of them are stranger to nightmares. He traces the lines of her face with his eyes, running over the flush of sleep in her skin, scars and marks that freckle her skin. Time had changed her, changed him but what he felt that first morning, (that first night) together did not. Her lips purse and she sighs through her nose and starts to stretch, probably sensing him watching. Lashes part to bright eyes and a quirk pulls at her lips as she looks back at him.

No, he’s never felt anything quite like this.


End file.
